


Our Stories

by Artsortment



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Musician Jo, extremely vague references to sex work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artsortment/pseuds/Artsortment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an AU where Jo and Ellen weren't killed during the apocalypse. Could also be read as taking place during that time when Jo was off hunting alone during seasons 2 and 3 as well. Jo funds her hunting exploits by performing music she's written about her experiences, and the stories she hears from other hunters in small dimly lit bars across the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Caitlin Obom’s album "The Family Business" (I highly recommend [listening to a song](https://soundcloud.com/caitlinobom/sets/the-family-business-cd) while reading this fic) and the episode of Leverage where Alona Tal plays a country singer ([clip 1](https://youtu.be/jY8FEBpOahY), [clip 2](https://youtu.be/VVgAMnfVsJ4)).

Jo sat at the bar counting out her tips from that night’s performance, occasionally taking a drink from her beer without her eyes ever leaving the cash. She preferred bars like this that didn’t pour your beer into a glass - there was a simple pleasure in the feel of the glass bottle against her lips that she couldn’t quite describe, and it felt wrong drinking beer without it. Once she finished counting and sorting the bills by denomination, she tucked them into a zippered pocket of her backpack. She’d done pretty well tonight for a place where she’d only earn tips. Every now and then she’d get a gig at a joint that’d pay her just to be there but those were few and far between. She’d sold a few CDs as well which was always nice. Jo chuckled around the mouth of the bottle as she remembered a guy that’d raised an eyebrow when he saw she offered her album on cassette as well. There were folks too set in their ways to upgrade their sound systems among her target audience and they were usually so appreciative that she offered that format at all and gave her a few extra bucks. So it was totally worth the extra hassle. Jo polished off her beer and tossed some bills onto the table to pay for it. Hoisting her backpack of wares over her shoulder and picking up her guitar case from off the floor, she headed back to her motel for the evening to start the real work - a poltergeist at a local school.

The building in question had been a mortuary school before the headmaster died and it got shut down. It had been left empty for two decades until the city that the brilliant idea to turn it into an elementary school. Two teachers had died already and the police were clueless as usual. Jo’d spent two days researching before she found her answer. The ghost was of a man named Billy Perot whose body had been donated to the mortuary school after he committed suicide. Or so it said on paper. Small town like this, the head of the mortuary school had also been the town coroner. After much pulling of records and drinking enough sweet tea while gossiping with little old southern ladies to fill a pool, she figured out what had really happened. Billy had been having an affair with the coroner’s wife, and well, young eager students hacking away at a body is a real convenient way to hide evidence. His skull had been preserved and placed on a shelf in the headmaster’s office as some sort of sick trophy. A week later the headmaster died of a heart attack. The skull was still in the school - now on display in one of the science classrooms. All Jo had to do was break in and do a simple salt and burn. Easy.

Two hours and a ruined jacket later, the job was done. Jo tossed the jacket into the dumpster outside the motel, grumbling to herself about how she’d just bought the damn thing two months ago. She let herself into her room, dumped her kit on the floor, and stripped on her way to the bathroom to take a much needed shower before passing out atop the motel comforter.

10 a.m. the following morning found Jo nursing a cup of coffee while waiting for her breakfast at the local diner: the proper kind that had a bar where you could sit and watch your food being made. She took a long pull of the bitter drink as she watched the cook expertly brown hash browns for a guy two stools over. Jo’d always thought you couldn’t screw up hash browns, but eating at the wide variety of diners she had since she started hunting had taught her otherwise. Honestly, what self respecting diner cook served hash browns that weren’t crispy? The sound of a throat clearing to her left roused her from her musings.

The noise had come from a large man who seemed to embody every macho man stereotype. He wore a beat up leather jacket, ripped blue jeans, and a white a-frame. His hair was cropped short and his impressive mutton chops were salt and pepper. His skin was weathered from years of unprotected exposure to the elements and the edges of "USMC" peeking out from under his jacket sleeve amongst other flashes of color giving the distinct impression he was inked. The glint of metal tucked into his waistband a clear indication he wasn't unarmed.

“Miss Jo Harvelle?” he asked - voice gruff and deep.

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Who wants to know?”

The man chuckled. “You sure are your mama’s daughter ain’tcha?” He held out his hand. “Jack Bishop. I got in yesterday to take a look at the job in town, but it seems you had it covered.”

Jo shook his hand and grinned. “You snooze you loose old timer.” The waitress set a plate loaded with pancakes in front of Jo and refilled her coffee before taking Jack’s order for “just a cup of joe, thanks.”

Jo had started eating while Jack exchanged words with the waitress. When she looked up to locate the syrup, she noticed Jack smiling at her softly.

“I saw your show last night. I was not expecting to hear a voice like yours in a bar like that. Not with what I paid for my beer.” He said with a smirk and Jo laughed along with him. The beer in that place had been dirt cheap and with good reason. Jack paused for a moment, glancing down at his feet before returning his gaze to meet Jo's eyes. When he started speaking again, his voice had lost all its brash confidence. “I never thought I’d hear someone make music about we do, not music like that.” He broke eye contact and shook his head. “I lost my old man to the job, same as you lost yours. And I….” Jack swallowed, clearly feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. Jo put down her fork and turned her full attention to the large man sitting beside her. “It was like you were singing about him.” He smiled up at her. “I just wanted to say thank you. For makin’ us seen. Telling our stories. We keep to the dark for a reason. Making what we do known, well, that doesn’t end well for any of us. But you make us seen, heard, without giving up the game. I didn’t think that was possible without making it a joke or a damn fantasy novel. It was beautiful. It's too bad my Pop wasn't there to hear it.” The waitress chose that moment to return with Jack’s coffee, and he looked at her gratefully - clearly embarrassed by the tears that had started forming at the corners of his eyes during his speech. "He probably would've proposed to you right there the old pervert" Jack joked trying to regain his composure.

Jo took a sip of her own coffee, giving him a moment. “Ya’ll are heroes." She said simply and looked him square in the eye. She knew too many hunters who saw themselves as disposable people, and wanted to make sure Jack knew she was talking to him - about him. "I’m doin’ my best to fill the shoes my Daddy and folks like you left for me, but sometimes doin’ the job just isn’t tribute enough. Hunters are soldiers, and good men, and it was damn time y’all got some recognition. I’m just tryin’ to give you what you deserve in the small ways I can.” Jo held his stunned gaze for a moment longer before she turned to rifle through her bag. She pulling out a CD and handing it to him. “Here. Unless you’d rather have a cassette?”

Jack smiled gratefully. “CD’s fine. Easier to convert to mp3.” He tucked the CD into the largest pocket in his jacket - the corner peeked out a bit.

Jo grinned. “Well look at you bein' in the 21st century. I know a hunter at least half your age who still has a tape deck in his car. Pitched a fit when his brother tried to make it so it’d play from his ipod.”

Jack laughed along with her and pulled out his wallet. “How much do I owe ya?”

“No charge for hunters sir.” She said emphatically. The man raised an eyebrow, skeptical “I’ve been doin’ this long enough to know what pretty girls like you usually have to do to support a hunter’s life. You got a way to make an honest living fightin’ the good fight and damn do you have some talent. I sure as hell ain’t gonna keep from ya what you rightfully earned. Now how much?”

“Like you said, you’ve been doin’ this for a while. I’m lucky I’ve got a voice people are willin’ to pay to listen to. You said you know what pretty girls like me usually to do support huntin’? Well I know what men like you have to do, and I know how it doesn’t always pan out like you want it to. No charge for hunters.” And with that, she stubbornly turned back to her pancakes.

Jack smiled and shook his head. “If they were real, I’d be sure you were an angel Miss Harvelle. You’ve got both the voice and the heart of one.”

Jo smiled, “Thank you.” Despite knowing the truth about what angels were really like, she never had it in her to break the truth to hunters that hadn’t seen them yet. Especially the ones who still had faith despite all they’d seen. It just seemed cruel. But boy did the Winchesters have stories. She already had a few songs in the works based on what they’d told her about God’s holy soldiers. Though she might bend the truth just a bit.

Jack’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly. “You’re doin’ good work Miss Harvelle.” Jack polished off the rest of his coffee, getting up and walking over to the register to pay. A few moments later he stopped back by Jo’s stool on his way out. “I hope to see you around. I’ll certainly be hearin’ you.” He tapped the pocket with the CD in it and look a bit awkward before Jo rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug.

“You take care.”

“You do the same.”

Jo went back to her pancakes, eating with gusto and a smile plastered onto her face. When she asked for her check, the waitress told her that her meal had been paid for already. Jo smiled and rolled her eyes, thanking the waitress before turning to leave. A stiff breeze outside had her sticking her hands into her jacket pockets. She frowned in confusion as she pulled twenty dollars and a note out of her left pocket.

 

> “I once bet my old man twenty bucks that nothing could make me cry. He isn’t around to collect, so I figured you earned it. Consider breakfast my tip for your show since I didn’t have cash last night. Keep on singing angel. Thanks for the free CD! Next time I see your Mama I’ll tell her you’re doing her proud.”

Jo shook her head and smiled fondly. Later that night, she lifted the guitar out of its case and set it aside before pulling a roll of clear packing tape out of her backpack. Smiling, she regarded Jack’s note again before leaning over and gently taping it to the inside of the case’s lid. The last bit of black plastic was finally obscured with this most recent note. “Hunters,” she said fondly to the collage of bar napkins and scraps of paper before picking up her guitar and getting to work writing that song about angels.

**Author's Note:**

> Download "The Family Busienss" [here](https://gumroad.com/l/AGXs) or preview it on [Soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/caitlinobom/sets/the-family-business-cd)


End file.
